Short proses and poems by Ha Vinh Tam from Vietnam

 

Short proses and poems by Ha Vinh Tam from Vietnam

Her biography:

Fullname:Ha Thi Vinh Tam

Teacher at Cua Lo High School – Cua Lo Town – Nghe An Province

She loves to write shortstories, passages and poem. In her literature works, lots of memories were described to bring unforgettable moments for readers. Surely, her pupils and students who could enjoy very much for reading her writing. In poem, she used lovely words to speak out inside feelings that influencing a lot to people.

Two short proses

Gai tea – the beloved memory By Ha Vinh Tam

(Translated into English by Hanoi Female translators)

This afternoon, when suddenly listening to the song "That place is my hometown" by musician Manh Chien... "My hometown is sunshine in red field, rain soaked in the mud. My hometown isspicy and salt, clinging to many generations of sad and happy songs... Sweet and bitter... Ficus bengalensis roots of the communal house yard, mother waiting for the afternoon boat, the green tea inviting the fragrance of our whole village…” The drifting song called me back to childhood memories.

“That place” of my hometown was famous for the specialty of Gai Tea. My grandmother was very fond of drinking green tea. Whenever going to the market, she also bought a bunch of green tea to drink for two or three days, usually brewing tea two or three times a day. She said “A bunch of delicious tea having leaves are usually small, thick, slightly yellow, branches not too long, the stem not green but brown. As for the large green leaves, soft with big green stems, it's not our Gai tea”

Every time she opened the bunch of tea, she often picked up the top of the tea branch, removed the yellowed and withered leaves, then arranged them in small bunches, tied them by banana leaves. Her tea selection and arrangement sometimes took an hour. Therefore, tea usually was fresh for a long time. She often told me: "As long as one or two withered leaves left, the teapot will smell badly and not good. Whatever you do, granddaughter. At first, be a little careful, then you will be healthy for yourself, what you do will be good and satisfied."

When washing the tea, she told me "Do not wash the tea many times, not break the leaves, but gently remove the dust or the broken leaves get on it, the tea on the high mountains is clean" When putting the tea in the pot, she also chose a few leaves as a button to compress the top of the teapot so that the tea would be airtight when the water was added. She used water from village wells or rainwater for brewing tea, not from drilling wells. When cooking a wood stove, she chose big and flaming sticks rather than paper or leaves because the smoke would stick to the tea, losing its flavor and characteristic fragrance.

The leaves before being put into the pot, she often rubbed lightly so that when pouring water in, the tea would absorb faster, and water would have a yellow color similar to honey. Even putting water in the pot, she did it meticulously. She poured just boiling water over the leaves and filled about 1/3 of the pot, then poured the water out. This action, she repeated twice. She explained “Step one is to rinse the pot to make it hot and try to see if the water outlet is blocked at the faucet or not. Step two is let the water begin to soak into the tea and pour out the remains in the pot. Finally, she filled the pot with water and incubated the tea in a rattan basket for about 30 minutes to an hour (incubation time depends on whether it is hot or cold). Such a teapot can hold twice, but the next round, water is lighter than the first time. The taste of the tea is very strong, at first, it has a slightly acrid taste, then gradually penetrates the tip and the base of the tongue with a sweet taste.

The tea must be braised to be delicious, fragrant, sweet and yellow, but if it is cooked, the tea will become dense, slightly acrid and dark yellow color, without the gentle aroma of fresh tea leaves. Grandmother often said: "boiling tea is a type of eating out in the moment, quickly coming out of the water but not having the taste of green tea, my dear."

That day, I heard her said and just nodded only, sometimes even passing in my head: "Oh, there's just something to braise about. Why is it so much trouble? Just wash the tea and put it in the pot, boiling water and it is done."

The first time, I braised the tea very badly. Despite being carefully advised by grandmother, the tea I washed that was broken, the tea button was not round like she did, I only poured water once in the pot, not complicated two or three times. The grandmother held a cup of water and shook her head "what did you do with tea, the broken leaves but the tea is still not cooked enough, it's not okay for a girl of Gai tea to lose its brand!"

She strictly told me “Later, pour this pot out to use for bathing, and then cook another pot to drink." At that time, I was very angry, just doing it and feeling uncomfortable. But thanks to that, I knew how to make delicious tea for the right taste of my hometown.

Every time, when my father come back, the tea brewing process was more meticulous. Although, my father was a son-in-law, but she loved as her own son. Since was Gai son-in-law, my father was also addicted to drinking green tea. Grandmother knew that, so when she heard about my father's return, she urged either my mother or me to make a pot of delicious green tea for him. After eating the meal, the whole family gathered around the table of warm, fragrant, sweet, yellow teapot.

Increasingly, more and more I well understood her teachings, even though she was far away now...

And I grew up from braising tea since then!

🌸

Memory seasons of custard apples

This morning, when the sun rose from the pink carpet floating in the silver brown sky to wake up the sleepy town, I wandered to walk through the market. My footsteps stopped in front of custard apple basket with opening eyes of an old woman, her hair was grey. Lots of memory suddenly rushed back... I miss my grandmother.

There was a row of custard apple trees in my grandmother’s garden, along the entrance. In winter, the leaves were darkened, falling, leaving only the thin trunks. In the cold, windy and rainy weather, custard apple trees stood quietly and dignified like guards. After lunar new year, the new buds began to come out, sparsely dotted on the branches. Only those who cared would notice some of these small signs of change.

Because at that moment, everything was wearing a full vitality, the green leaves. All flowers were blooming, only the custard apple trees were still sleepy to begin moving to welcome the spring rain. Around March, when returned from school, in front of my house, thought that I had entered a green paradise. Just a few days later, the leaves were stronger and greener, at the eyes of the branches, there were tiny clusters of flowers that pop out like elegant green buttons on the girls' collars.

Flowers grew gradually, getting long, turning to the green on the outside, creamy yellow on the inside that looked cool and nice. Each flower had only three thick, hard, if separated petals, no sepals, no stamens. Its flower was not colorful, but very rustic, simple and special.

When the night falling, grandmother turned on the light outside the gate, I stood on the second floor balustrade looking down at the flowers like smooth white lanterns hanging from the branches. Every time there was a gentle breeze of early summer passing, the leaves were murmured to each other, the flowers were also shaking with slight smiles, creating a peaceful and pure beauty for the whole garden.

The flower fragrance was light, tenderly. Perhaps rare species that had a strong smell of leaves that overwhelming the fragrance of flowers like custard apple trees. That fragrance, the flower was dedicated to those who liked silence... When the flowers were about to wither or dry, they become dark brown, smooth and spongy, looking like grandmother’s faded velvet shirt. Then, over the time, the flowers gave way for little fruits playing happily with the summer sunshine and wind.

Oh, the small green custard apples, round shapes that looked funny and cute! The custard apples hiding in the leaves and mixing into the green foliage. There were separate fruits, or bunches of fruits that hanging at the branch eyes. The peduncles were usually short and big, strong and brown. When immature, the green custard apples looked like beautiful little hearts.

A little bigger, the fruits turned dark green, hard, eyes half-closed as if still sleepy. As they get bigger, the veins started to turn pink white, the eyes started to expand. The custard apples were big eyes, or small eyes. Until one day, their eyes opened wide, the pink veins like a baby's heel, that was the time the custard apples began to soften, ripen with its fragrance.

In the season, grandmother waked up very early to go out to the garden to pick the fruits with opened eyes. Which fruit was big and ripe, she gave it to my sisters. Every time she touched leaves, would cherish each custard apple on the branch and whispered to them. For some unopened eyes, she whispered: "Oh, you are so big, but have not opened your eyes, wake up quickly". For other, the grandmother shouted "This small fruit but so fragrant". Some others, she was gentle " It's almost beautiful, cheeks are a little bit pink". Sometimes, she said: "grow up fast, grow up fast".

Was the garden loved and cared by the grandmother, that every year it was full of fruit? The big baskets of big, round, nice custard apples followed grandmother to the market to exchange lots of gifts for us... In holidays, sitting at home, waiting for grandmother back from the market, the feeling of time was so long, so slow. But there was nothing more fun than seeing her voice talking and laughing with the neighbors in the alley.

At that time, no matter whatever doing, my feet would jump and run to meet my grandmother in boundless joy... It turned out that she was a fairy in the fairy garden and in our peaceful childhood... Lately, a long time later, when she was gone, we were just realized... However, at the silly age, was at her side, I sometimes made her sad. Grandmother, please forgive me!

The custard apple seasons were continuously back, without an appointment according to the law of nature. When it began in the season, it was also near her death anniversary. Custard apple shadows were less sparse than before, but the memory about grandmother was always full of the familiar garden. I picked up a dried flower and placed it in the palm, spreading out like three hands of a clock... Time seemed to stand still, motionless... Their eyes seemed to tear up…

5 poems:

Aimlessly singing for myself

It's been a long time the woman didn't sing

Reaching to pick up a fallen leaf

Gathering memories to open a remembered sky

These are warm hands

These are smiling eyes

Heels used to be stamped

Trembling passions

… These are

One day away from the city…

“Sad city on Sunday”

One day putting my age on the porch

"What age are you?"

The whispering woman

Spring is moving in the bunch of chrysanthemums

Warm sunshine is sowing at the doorstep

Looks like someone's cheeks are blushing!

🌸

Talking to myself

Even you, I feel far away

Heaving rainy night

wading in memories

Ruminant face

Afraid of foolish spring

Clumsily hesitating to unfinished dream…

The breath of heaven and earth, full of the grapefruit fragrance white in the yard

Covering with green sprouts .. stretching mountain ears

My heart is afraid… confused

Waiting side waiting for

Have a noon dream!

"Not everyone knows to sing folk songs"

Whole life

I only know green…the green color like grass

The song "Uh oh" mother cherished for a time

I just follow

believe in myself…

Life goes on no matter it is

I love myself

like a tree

Even though the leaves falling, still preserves from the ground

Day after day... the fruit will be sweet in next season.

🌸

The waking

Startled

Fragrance

Where?

One,

Two,

Three,

… Entangled full of corner of a table

Dedicated to red rose petals

…

Only stamen left

Why is it still fragrant?

Strange

Breath

want to tear …

The light

Your smile sparkled the green!

🌸

Talking to the lilies

I have already passed March

The bird footprints are at the canthus

A restless vow

A restless moon…

We are transparent together

The lilies have bloomed

White lilies

Leaning lilies

The flower vase is lovely

Brightening up a corner of the house…

Hey you,

We are transparent together

Forever

I

You

Still an asymptote!

We silently cry and laugh, sad and happy

Together side by side

Understanding …

A look also roams in each other

A look at… hey you

the lilies want to cry

The pure white tear that April fills with memories

Memories to love, love to memorize….

April is coming….!

🌸

Summer and me?

Summer is hesitating with rain and sunshine

As if it is still autumn

Passing through warm spring

Still entangling with cold breeze!

Summer is sleepy in the clouds

The sun misses the wind

Knitting into fluttered autumn

Waking up red delonix regia in the school yard

I already told my heart to step

After stopped, why still compassionated You?

Thought it is summer with hot sunshine

Why is it suddenly cold?

I'm past through the frivolity

why still passionate?

Oh no, I don't understand anymore

Every season it is confused

I give in this math

The more subtract, the more adding!

Yeah, that's me

Pink spring when the age is already autumn…